


Take The Shot

by mintkov



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Basketball AU, Derek is annoying, Derek is typical brooding Derek, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stiles is BADASS., Stiles is amazing at Basketball, Stiles kicks Derek's ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintkov/pseuds/mintkov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basketball AU - Derek and Stiles are on rival teams. Stiles is awesomely bad ass. Derek is.. Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As usual, Stiles was on the bench. He was sitting and waiting, watching the game and cheering all his team mates on. He’s pumped with adrenaline, and for the past 3 quarters, it’s almost as if he was playing himself. The mentality, his eyes following the ball at its every movement. They were down by 8 points, which isn’t much. Although the team was tired, and there was one player on the opposing team that had the strength of about 10 cows. _Jesus, is this kid for real. I bet he isn’t even human._

 

He doesn’t mind though, being on the bench. He knows that his time is in the last quarter. He knows that that’s where Coach needs him. He isn’t much use any where else, he loses focus easily, and when he gets tired, he’s down. It’s what the Coach has learnt since that game he wanted Stiles to play since the first quarter. He knows he isn’t a bad player, hell, he’s probably even a great player. He guesses everything comes with a price, which is why he only gets to play the last, significant 15 minutes of the game.

 

The buzzer rings for the end of the 3rd quarter, and now they’re down by 10. It’s not a big difference, but with the opponent team still going as strong, it doesn’t look too good for them. 

‘Alright, get it together. Remember, when you get out there, you’re out there. You can’t afford to make a mistake, you got me? We will win this.’ Finstock puts on his most forceful yet inspirational voice as he huddles around the circle of smelly and sticky teenagers, panting like they’ve ran suicides - which isn’t far off from the truth.

‘Bilinski! You’re in.’ Finstock thwacks Stiles’ back - it probably was supposed to be a pat on the back, but it’s Finstock. Gentle isn’t really in his vocabulary.

 

The buzzer rings again, as the starter for the fourth and final quarter.  This is where it counts. Not only have they got to equal the score, they’ve got to push through and win it. Isaac passes him the ball from the side lines, he pounds the ball against the floor of the court, staying in the safety of his own half. Looking up, scanning around the position of his team mates and the opposing team, he lifts his arm, showing the number 3 with his fingers.

‘Play three!’ He shouts as he accelerates, driving right into the man marking him. In the last moment, he jabs his foot to the left, distracting his man, in one fluid movement, he jerks his left leg back, crosses the ball over, and dribbles through to the right, shoulder brushing his marker. 

 

Another man comes up to him, to defend him - the defense formation slowly falling apart. He fakes a shot and passes it to Isaac, who is now open. The man who was marking him before runs to Isaac to defend him, but Isaac is much faster. He penetrates into the key and finishes with a right hand lay up. The crowd roars, it’s only been 15 seconds into the fourth quarter and they’re closing the gap. 

 

They hustle back into their defense, they’re playing zone defense, there’s rarely enough space for anything to wrong with this. The opposing team brings the ball forward, the huge man that Stiles isn’t sure if he is human or not comes straight to the zone he’s marking, which is down near the base line on the left. They were fast, the opposing team swiftly gets the ball to him, number 17, and he jumps for a jump shot. Stiles knew from his body position that this was the case, and jumps just enough to reject the ball as it comes out of number 17’s hands. Boyd is already on the move, grabbing the rebound and pounding his way to make an open layup. 6 points to go. 

 

The crowd is cheering wildly, an amazing come back they’re making. Back on defense, Stiles’ team arranges themselves. It’s number 17 that brings the ball down this time, and with fast fluid movements, he swiftly dodges and avoids all the defense men. He shoots and scores, far before Stiles could react. He winces and gets a good look at that guy. 

 

He’s around 6ft, from what Stiles can tell, judging from his own height. His eyes were a weird shade of green - possibly even brown? It’s weird. He has a stubble, an unmistaken stubble that probably means he’s around 20. What was he doing here then if he’s already 20? But then again, this is regionals. He’s probably just on his first year out of high school. His black hair was sexy. Yes, Stiles will admit, it’s sexy. Not that he will _ever_ admit that to anyone if he was asked. It was especially sexy since it was wet, slicked back by his hands, and a few strands falling back on his face. It’s incredibly hot. Not that Stiles would know because Stiles is completely and utterly straight. 

 

Boyd brings the ball up the court, shouting play two as he crosses the half court line. Stiles and Scott switch places at the back, running to cause distraction. As predicted, the two men marking them follows Stiles and Scott, only to run into each other and cause mayhem. With both Scott and Stiles free, two of the guards step back down the court to cover for them if need be. 17, the center, stalks up forward to gain more space. Boyd swings the ball to Isaac, on his left, cuts down to the middle, dragging one of the guards with him. Danny rotates up to the top of the 3 point line. Isaac passes it over to Danny, and he swings it to Boyd. The opposing team are on guard, Danny should be cutting into the key, where Isaac rotates up, but Boyd jumps. The whole team whips their head around and panics. They go to the hoop, hoping to get a rebound, but Boyd makes an impressive shot, and it goes in with a swish. Stiles peeps a look at number 17, the see him scowl.

 

Stiles flashes a smile and runs back up the court to get in for defense, hoping for a second of just breathing, a little rest before it starts up again. 17 brings the ball down, and Stiles is looking more competitive than ever. He knows that he’s a threat, and he’s incredible. 17 swings the ball around before going to stand by Stiles, waiting for their play. The shot comes in from the other side this time, and he misses. Stiles grabs the ball, and instinctively bringing it down to his abdomen and protecting the ball with his body. Danny is already at half court, Stiles swings the ball over head to Danny, where Danny runs up for a layup. Stiles smirks as he looks at 17’s scowl.

 

This time, another guy brings the ball down, he’s white, sculpted, and has amazing cheekbones. This other team was really questioning Stiles sexuality. Stiles didn’t like it. 

‘Stiles! 17!’ Finstock yells from the sideline. Stiles turns to see that 17 is open, on the side, just outside the 3 point line. The white guy - 23 - passes the ball to 17, and 17 jumps for a 3 pointer. It isn’t to much of a surprise to Stiles that he makes it, hell, if he wanted to, 17 could probably make a shot at the half way line. Stiles manages to catch a smirk, and he scowls.

 

It’s back to 6 points and time is running out. Stiles brings the ball up and as he shouted play one, he drove to the tip of the 3 point line, and jumped shot. 17, being an asshole that he is, crashes into Stiles on momentum. The foul whistle blows, the shot goes in, the crowd goes wild, but all Stiles could think about is how much his ass hurts. 17 reaches out and offers a hand, Stiles tugs on it for balance and gives him a weak smile.

‘Sorry, I got carried away,’ 17 mumbles.

Stiles takes his position at the top of the key, the whistle blows for him to take his shot. He bounces the ball, and breathes in deeply. He looks up at the hoop, positioning the ball in his hands. Bringing it up from his abdomen, he lifts his arms up and springs his body up. He lets go of the ball and if flies into the hoop. One thing about Stiles Stilinski - he never misses a foul shot. Stiles smirks. It’s becoming a game of its own.

 

With only 20 seconds left on the clock, the team thinks fast. It’s the only time where coach allows them to improvise, with only 20 seconds left, there isn’t time to set formation, to think. A guy brings the ball up the court, strolling, taking his time. He’s not going to allow any more plays than necessary. Danny sees a moment of weakness when the guy looks for someone to pass to, he snatches the ball out of his hands, and dribbles forward. With quick reflexes, the guy follows Danny, taking him all the way down to where Danny is about to make a layup. As he shoots, the guy hits the ball away, across the court. Stiles, quick on his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins, speeds to the ball, grabs it. 

10 seconds left on the clock, he knows there’s not enough time for them to make a play. 8 seconds left, and 17 is on his tail, marking him. 

5 seconds, he’s almost lost control. 

4 seconds he jabs his foot to the left, his signature move. 

3 seconds, 17 moves with him, eyes wide when he realizes his mistake. 

2 seconds, Stiles smirks, and shifts his weight to his right foot, bringing his left foot back and around 17’s body.

1 second, he jumps into the air, the whole stadium goes silent. The ball shoots out of his hands, his feet pounding back on the floor. He holds his breath. The ball bounces around the ring and the back board. He prays. 

The buzzer rings, the ball goes in. 

Stiles yells, and pumps his fist in the air, 17, slumps to the floor, the crowd is ecstatic. Finstock runs onto the court and grabs Stiles into a suffocating hug. The whole team jumps on Stiles, cheering and shouting. 

 

They’ve won. 

 

Both teams line up to shake hands, mumbling ‘good game’s and ‘great job’s as sweating hands pass by each other.

‘Great game, amazing play.’ Stiles says as he shakes hands with 17.

‘Thanks, great shot.’ 17 mumbles back. 

 

\--

 

‘Stiles,’ Stiles says as he walks towards 17. 17 looks up, searching for the person that the voice belongs to, before setting his eyes on Stiles with a confused expression.

‘My name is Stiles.’ He repeats.

‘Derek.’

‘Great game out there, Derek. I’m so sorry for that trick I played on you, but I’m really not.’ He says with a wide smile, and catching Derek’s eye, he winks.

‘I’ll buy you a drink.’ Stiles cocks his head to the side, ‘You know, just a loser’s treat. Wouldn’t want you feeling too bad.’ Stiles laughs. Derek scowls and starts to walk away.

‘Aw, seriously, Derek! I was just joking - about the loser’s part - but not really because that’s the truth, but i’m really not helping my case am I? I just meant, you know, I’m willing to pay for a drink if you feel like it? Just as friends of course, because you’re straight and I’m straight, and so that would be weird - oh you’re looking at me like that, I must be talking too much right, okay well -’

‘Sure.’ Derek cuts him short, with an amused face. 

‘Okay well, it’s fine maybe next time - wait did you say sure?’ Stiles stopped, in disbelief, eyes wide. He mentally slaps himself for looking like an idiot, _again._ He reigns his emotions in, puts on the best poker face he can come up with - which isn’t great - and nods.

‘I’ll go shower, and we’ll go? Meet you in half an hour here?’ Stiles asks in his calmest tone.

‘Sure.’ Derek answers and walks to the changing rooms.

Stiles starts freaking out in the hall way - it's not much of a surprise that he does, really.

 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok well this is definitely the end haha.

‘Okay, so maybe I’m not exactly the kind of party guy you expect.’ Stiles starts, as he leads Derek into a diner. Derek just looks at Stiles, the corners of his lips twitching up - like he was trying to suppress a smile.

‘Just the two of us, thanks, Soph.’ Stiles smiles widely at the waitress. She raises an eyebrow but remains quiet, leading them to the bar counter at the back of the diner.

‘Hey, Dere, I can call you that right? Well it doesn’t matter if you care because I’m calling you that regardless. ANYWAY. You haven’t spoken much have you? I mean, this might be the last time you get to see me, since you’re out of the championships now.’ Stiles teases, punching Derek’s arm softly. Derek scowls and continues to ignore Stiles.

‘Rude.’ Stiles huffs playfully. He picks up the menu for a brief minute, before settling it back down and calling for the waitress - Sophie. 

‘Hey, Stiles. The usual?’ Sophie asks and she whips out her paper and pen.

‘Nah, I’m gonna have an Oreo milkshake today.’ Stiles replies, and looks at Derek, ‘Derek? We don’t have all day you know, this place is gonna close soon.’ 

‘Coffee. Black.’ Derek says with no emotion.

‘You’re no fun. Get him my special milkshake okay? Ignore what he says.’ Stiles winks at Sophie, she returns a smile before walking off.

‘I think I can choose what I want, especially if this trip is for me.’ Derek mentions. 

‘Well you’re being boring.’ Stiles counters, and swings his legs on the stool to make a point. Derek cuffs Stiles’ head.

‘Oh, so we’re at that stage of the relationship now? We skipped a couple of milestones, Derek.’ Stiles jokes, running his hand through his sorry excuse for hair, ‘I mean, I totally picked you for a nice guy, not the abusive type. I guess people make mistakes huh.’ Stiles laughs as he sees Derek’s shocked expression. Derek cuffs him on the head again, and it brings tears into Stiles eyes as he tries to control his laughter.

 

Stiles sees Sophie with the milkshakes and he makes grabby hands as she walks towards them, Sophie just laughs as she place the milkshakes on the counter. Stiles moves the milkshake closer to him, and grabs the straw with his mouth, guiding the straw with his tongue. Derek stares.

‘Eat up! You know, a guy with such slow reaction like you, it makes me wonder how you got in the basketball team.’ Stiles jokes. Derek brings the milkshake closer and wraps his tongue around the straw and sucks. Stiles gulps, eyes wide. He quickly looks away and suddenly drinking his milkshake became his top priority. 

‘It’s not bad.’ Derek comments, Stiles looks up. Derek then licks his lips slowly, causing Stiles to squirm, pressing his hand down his bulging erection. He quickly finishes the milkshake, leaves the money on the counter and walks off. You’d be surprised how hard (pun intended) it is to walk normally with a hard on. 

‘Hey, I thought we were gonna hang out?’ Derek taunts from the back of the restaurant. 

‘Well I’ve paid, haven’t I?’ Stiles shouts back, refusing to turn around. 

‘Alright, you’re my ride though. Don’t go anywhere.’ Derek yells back, not even trying to hide a smirk.

‘Hurry up then, I’ve got a game tomorrow you know? Finals? Unlike some loser.’ Stiles counters, waving his hand. Derek scowls.

 

\--

 

They were losing by far - it was bad. No, bad was an understatement. It was horrible, it was disappointing, it was hopeless. Being down by 20 points in the last quarter is the worst, they might as well give up. The best they could hope for was to tie, and come back during extra time, but even then, that would take a miracle.

 

Stiles buried his face in his hands, he had a lot of work to do, and he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to do this. He had many plays in mind, he picked out the team’s weaknesses, mentioning them every time there was a time out, but the team never got the timing right, or the position right, and it fell apart.

 

Finstock shoves Stiles on the court, and shouting inspirational quotes - well as inspirational as they get, knowing Finstock, it probably wasn’t great. Stiles gets the ball from Danny, and dribbles up to the half way line. He raises his hand and curled his thumb so his hand showed the number 4. He passes the ball to Danny, who penetrates into the key, drawing the attention of two of the defense men. He abruptly pivots, now facing out towards the 3 point line, throws the ball to Boyd. Boyd takes the shot. Score.

 

It’s still not enough though, this simple play. They’ve only got 15 minutes to bring the score back up. He knows it won’t be as simple as Derek’s team, that they’d have to attack their weaknesses all the time, and hope that they haven’t found their own.

 

Falling back on defense, he stands as a strong center. He knows he’s fast, he’s always been quick on his feet, with fast reflexes. It was one of the good things about having ADD; it gave him the edge - always having the rush of energy.

 

Judging from his previous calculations, he knew they were fast, all of them, that they were swift. But he could also tell that these five players on the court as of right now, haven’t played with each other before. Their coordination was off, it was only pure luck that his team didn’t manage to steal the ball when they made mistakes. He noticed that 19 was slower than the others on his feet, that 27 would always pause just a second longer than others before he took a shot, that 32 was the strongest of them all - most likely captain. 

 

They had a great play, the opposing team, but just as 23 shot, Scott jumped and slapped the ball out of his hands. Isaac grabbed the rebound, and ran to the other side, with 32 closely behind him. Stiles ran alongside him, staying wide. Isaac went in for a layup, but 32 caught up. He realized that he wouldn’t make the shot, and thankfully, Stiles had realized this earlier and planned ahead. Isaac powered a right hand pass to Stiles on the wing, and Stiles took a jump shot. 

 

It was a close game, definitely. Now that Stiles was in the last quarter. It would’ve made a bigger difference if Finstock had subbed him in earlier, just 5 minutes shy of the buzzer in the 3rd quarter. It could’ve cost them the game. Yes, they were definitely catching up, far quicker than any of the other quarters, the crowd cheering wildly, going crazy. Their supporters really believed that they do have a chance to win this. Stiles believed it too.

 

He stayed focused, completely focused, but they were getting tired. This team pushed them, and pushed them hard. The game was fast, the plays were quick, they were using only 10 seconds of the available 24. It was annoying though, that this was something that could tire Stiles out so easily. It also amused Stiles that they were so fit, that they had such stamina. He knew better though, he knew that they were far better than this. They just needed some rest, with the overwhelming wave of fatigue over the last couple of days from the tournament. It was harsh to put the matches every day, and in the mornings. It was the same feeling for everyone, but it doesn’t matter; Stiles was tired, so screw everything.

 

He didn’t like how the game was going. They were gaining ground, scoring every time they got the chance, but the other team was also scoring - not as frequently as before, but still, they couldn’t continue like this. 

 

Danny drove in, penetrating by the base line, through the space that the team had created. He went in for a layup, number 32 came out from nowhere, and stood in front of Danny. Losing his momentum, he tripped over number 32’s foot, and crashed onto the floor, crying in pain. Stiles started yelling, Finstock went ballistic, the crowd protested. The referee’s whistle blew, signing a foul with his arms. Danny grabbed his ankle in pain, rolling side to side on the floor. Number 32 backed off, with a slight smile on his face, and Stiles’ temper boiled. He walked over to 32 and hissed, ‘Don’t you dare pull a trick like that again, you cheating bastard. Play fair, or don’t play.’ 

‘Ooh, I’m scared.’ 32 whimpers sarcastically.

‘Fuck you.’ Stiles rushes over to Danny, trying to see how bad it was. The referee was already there, calling over the nurse. They had 8 minutes left, and they just lost Danny, the fastest on the team. This was just _perfect_.

 

Finstock subbed in Matt, he wasn’t a great player, but he could keep the ball, a great defense man. He was definitely needed. Stiles smiled, and grabbed him for a man hug. 

 

The whistle blew again, motioning for the clock to go, the game to start again. Stiles was beyond pissed. But Stiles pissed was good, he was more motivated, more blinded by anger and therefore aggressive. It gave him the energy boost he had been lacking the past couple of minutes. It was unquestionably a significant turning point in the game, Stiles scored and scored again, they were closing up on them fast. 

 

27 brought the ball down, Stiles’ feet were firm and stable, ready to go at any direction. He ran the ball across the top of the 3 point line a couple of times, before settling it in 32’s hands. 32 faked a shot, running past Isaac, and straight in for a layup. Stiles stayed his distance, and in the last moment, he ran out of the way, purposefully leaving his foot there for a split second too long. 32 tripped, and fell, Stiles pulled his foot back before suspicion rose. The crowd protested once more, the coach of the other team, blaming Stiles for foul play, but the referee remained silent. Stiles smirked at 32, and stole the ball, running to the basket and shooting an open lay up. 

 

There was only 30 seconds left on the clock, and they were down by 3. Stiles could make the shot. He could, but he hadn’t had the opportunity, with 32 following his tail at every movement, clearly waiting for a chance of revenge. 

 

27 shot again, and they were now down by 5. Stiles was beginning to give up hope. They couldn’t do much now in 18 seconds.

 

It was painful to watch, to see that they really had the chance, and have to watch it slowly slip away, and not being able to do anything about it. Finstock had his face in his hands, entwining his fingers behind his neck, and tilted his head back. The tension in the court was so thick, there was so much hope. Finstock probably knew that they’ve lost, but Stiles refused to believe it. They’ve come this far, they weren’t going to lose now, especially not to them. It was a disgusting, dirty team. Scott jumped a miraculous 3 pointer, and they’re back. They’re really back. They have 8 seconds to hopefully steal the ball and take a shot, it could be like in the semi finals, the last second. It really could.

 

32 played it slow, taunting Stiles, wasting time. Stiles ran for the ball, and took it out of his hands. He ran like he’d never before over to the other side of the court. He had 2 seconds.

 

The crowd was wild, they were crazy. The cheering, the screams, the breaths. It was incredible. His heart lept, it could happen.

 

The buzzer rang, and he hadn’t made it. He collapsed onto the floor, letting go of the ball, and broke down. The tears were running down furiously on his face, his team crowding around him, hugging him, all crying together. Manly tears, of course, they’ve come so far. No hand shakes were given, they refused. The game was so dirty, so unfair, they didn’t deserve to win. Stiles knew that it shouldn’t matter, that they didn’t deserve it, that his own team were the winners, having played fair the entire tournament.

 

He pushed open the double doors, he needed some air. He saw a familiar figure leaning against the pillar. He didn’t care, really. He was too broken right now. Derek smiled at him before walking forward slowly. When he was standing right in front of Stiles, he cupped Stiles’ face and tilted it up so he was staring into his eyes. 

 

‘I’ll buy you a drink. You know, loser’s treat.’ Derek murmured, his eyes smiling. Stiles managed to stifle a laugh, before leaning up and pressed his swollen lips against Derek’s dry ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH. :D 
> 
> please please comment on what you think. thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcomed - any type. :)
> 
> I'm not sure if I should continue, but I think it's alright just to have this as the ending?


End file.
